


everybody wants to hear how we chain smoked until three

by Wickedlovely01



Series: we wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Flashbacks, Hurt, M/M, No Fluff, Panic, Panic Attack, Paris - Freeform, Smoking, alex and laf are the main focus of this story, bc alex dOESN'T DESERVE FORGIVENESS, mentions of panic attack, no comfort, you can thank my friends for the ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 17:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10598979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wickedlovely01/pseuds/Wickedlovely01
Summary: oh my lover, my lover, my lovewe can never go backwe can only do our best to recreate(d.s)aka - the one where alexander wants things to go back to normal, but lafayette knows better.sequel to: you heard the thunder but ignored the rain





	

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is the second installment of like, six total pieces of this series. i really wanted to do separate stories focusing on alex and his signifs healing, so this is a lafayette based one. some parts may be rushed or confusing, but i had to finish it quickly for my creative writing class, and as a result i might go back and change the parts, but the overall plot & ending will remain the same.
> 
> you need to read you heard the thunder but ignored the rain in order to fully understand what happened between these two beauties. but also i'm not going to control your life, you can read this first, but lol good luck i guess. 
> 
> i'm forming the #lafayetteprotectionsquad bc HONESTLY HE'S SO HURT PLEASE HELP MY FRENCH BABE okay enjoy reading!

Lafayette can vaguely tell where he is. There’s mountains to the east, and a small town to the west. He might be in the cramped village he visited during summer holidays, but he doesn’t really know. The houses are blank with black lines searing through them; the people faceless. There’s a warm feeling in his stomach, though, and he likes the silent breeze rushing to greet him. He’s happy, the happiest he’s been in a long time, and he looks to the left of him, and there’s John and Hercules. They’re dressed in cotton garments and sitting on a blanket surrounded by sandwiches and fresh fruit. They beckon Lafayette to join them, and he can’t help but comply. However, just as he takes a step forward, he is rudely awakened by a sharp touch on his shoulder.

“What?” He growls. Lafayette is back in his room. It’s dark and cold, and he’s alone, save for the person on the end of his bed. 

“Let’s go outside.” It’s Alexander, and Lafayette scoffs, rolling his eyes as he keeps them closed. He doesn’t want Alexander around. “I wanna chain smoke.”

“Why don’t you just ask John or Hercules?” Lafayette asks him, turning over in the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. He thinks John might’ve brought this blanket from home. He swears he can see bloodstains on the corners, but John always waves him away with his hand, kisses his head, and busies himself with scrubbing the dishes even harder. He sometimes wonders if John does dishes so he can feel his skin peel off layer after layer. 

He can feel Alex climb onto the bed, resting his knees on the mattress so they’re just barely touching Lafayette’s side. “Because Hercules is working on some fucking knitting project, and John is sleeping, so I’d rather not bother them.” 

“You haven’t had a problem bothering us before.” He grumbles, shivering at the slight contact Alex makes when he brushes his hands through Lafayette’s hair. 

“I’m trying to get better at that, Laf. I’m trying to get better at a lot of things.” 

It’s not like he doesn’t believe Alexander. Not believing Alexander is like not believing that the sun shines every morning, or believing that the grass is green in the spring. Not believing Alexander is like walking up the concrete steps of their apartment building and tripping on the last one. Not believing Alexander is mutiny, and Lafayette will have none of it. No, his troubles lie in continuing to have faith in what Alexander says. Lafayette remembers that brisk fall day when Alex said he’d come home early and help Lafayette get the house ready for his grandmother. He remembers how Alex was so sure of himself, abounding with confidence to the point where it was infectious. He remembers how Alex never showed up, instead went to his dealer and got sopped up on heroin. 

Sober Alexander comes back to them a day later, regretful of what he had done. What he had failed to do.

Lafayette, of course, forgave him right away. Told him Hercules had helped with the vacuuming. 

It proves his point though. Believing in and having faith are two different things. Uncomparable. Apples and oranges. So he opens one eye, blows air through his nose, and says, “Aren’t we all?”

“Please? I’ve got the good stuff. I’m not gonna smoke it, though. Just cigarettes. Washington says I should cut down on my drug intake; it’s bad for my immune system.” 

“Jesus, okay, fine.” Lafayette pulls back the covers and sits up. Stretches. His shoulders pop with graceful age. “Just stop acting like a little whiny baby.” Alex leads him to the terrace by his hand, leaving Lafayette to hold his comforter in place with one hand. He’s met with a gust of frigid air once the door opens, and he curses in French under his breath. 

Sometimes he wishes he still lived in Paris, where the lights are turned off at one in the morning, and the night’s alluring paintings are visible to the naked eye. Lafayette could look up, see how the big dipper pointed to the north star, and know that he was always home. It didn’t matter if his grandmother told him he couldn’t amount to the greatness of his father, or that he didn’t even know his father, or how he died. It didn’t matter that he felt constantly alone, despite having nine or ten friends surrounding him at school, and it didn’t matter that he’d wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of summer because of anxiety. When he looked up at the silver parisian sky, he always felt calm, and cool, and collected. 

Lafayette leans his body over their wrought iron balcony. Hears the honks of horns below. New York was always noisy, even at three in the morning. He honestly doesn’t know how he manages to get more than three hours a sleep a night. He supposes that it’s because John always smooths his hair down and kisses his head as they watch Golden Girls with Alex and Herc on their other side. The lights are worse, though; Lafayette can’t locate the north star. He cannot find his angel in the night. He cannot find his home, and he cannot find his heart.

But he finds Alexander in all of this artificial darkness. He finds the soft hair flowing in the slight winter wind. He finds the rough, calloused, tan fingers fumbling for the packet of those red marlboro cigarettes Alexander clings to like life itself. He finds the brown eyes glittering with the green neon sign across from their apartment complex. Lafayette may not be able to find himself, but he can find Alexander, and maybe that’s enough. Maybe Alexander is enough, and maybe that’s okay. 

“Cheri, let me help you.” He says softly, reaching over to Alex’s shaking fingers. 

“Do you… hate me?” 

Lafayette nearly drops the box of cigarettes, and feels his heart drop into his stomach. With as much fluidity as he can manage, he hands Alex one, and watches as he lights it. Has he caused the glittering eyes? Has Lafayette managed to break the jaded statue that is - was - Alexander Hamilton? He pulls the shivering man closer, wraps him up in John’s thick comforter. He’s not sure if Alex is shivering because of the cold, or if because he’s afraid of Lafayette’s answer, but he knows it doesn’t matter. 

“No. I do not hate you.” He wishes he could add more emotion to his voice. It’s monotone, not very believable, but, then again, Lafayette has never known himself to be very volatile. He was born into a military family, after all. There was no time for different personalities. “How could I hate mon Alexandre?” 

“Because I ran away… And you never look at me anymore. If… If you do, it’s a look of utter rage. I know what I did. I know that I caused you to flee back to France for while. I know you still hate being around here. I know you still look down alleyways even if I’m with you. So… you must hate me.” 

“No… Shit, Alexander.” Lafayette presses a kiss to his temple. “I don’t hate you. I’m angry, yeah, but not hateful. I’ve gotten over that a long time ago. It’s just… It’s taken me awhile to adjust. John’s used to it, he’s never had a stable home life to begin with. Hercules loves us no matter what. I don’t think there’s a thing in the world we could do to him to make him stop loving us. They’re happy you’re home, and I am too. I just can’t stop thinking about you not being here.” 

He hears Alexander sigh, sees smoke float out of his mouth. It’s hard to see because of the darkness, which makes it seem more like a dream to Lafayette then reality. He wishes this were a dream, wishes that the last year had been a dream. He looks down at the few scattered drunks below, wonders what their story is. Alexander probably knows, but Lafayette doesn’t ask, doesn’t want to know how he knows.

“What was France like?” 

“You haven’t been?” 

“I’m a poor immigrant from Nevis, Laf. What do you think?” 

Lafayette thinks that the subject change isn’t going to improve their relationship. He thinks that they’re both avoiding the subject because neither wants the other to hurt. But sometimes licking wounds in the dark morning is better than not having cuts at all. Still, he humors the shaking man next to him. “It’s beautiful. I think you’d like it. The pigeons there don’t eat tomatoes, only the seeds. It smells like New York, but looks like something out of a fairy tale. Uh… The Eiffel Tower isn’t just grey, like in the far away pictures. It’s got little smatterings of dark bronze all along the base.” Alexander takes his hand, Lafayette keeps talking. His voice is deep, rough, his accent prominent. He’s nervous, and maybe Alexander can tell, but maybe Alexander doesn’t care. “One time me and my ex-girlfriend, Adrienne, we went there in the rain, climbed to the top, and did a photoshoot for hours.” 

“Did you ever want to leave? The second time around, I mean. When I was AWOL.” 

“I don’t really know. I was so fucking furious at you. I had decided to murder you if you ever came home. But I was scared, because you and I, Alexander, we’re the only immigrants in our friend group. You understand me, and I understand you. You’re like my other half, and when you left… God, I was broken. My anxiety was through the fucking roof. Herc literally had to fucking sedate me so I wouldn’t wake up screaming. It didn’t really help that John basically spent all his time at the gym. So yeah, uh, New York was suddenly a strange battlefield to me. I thought hotdogs were bombs. So when I went back to France, back to Adrienne, I was happy because everyone got me. I felt like I belonged, and I was happy for the first time in months.” 

“So why’d you come back then? If you were happy?” Alex flicks his bud to the ground below, reaches for the carton in Lafayette’s hands and lights it. He watches him take a long, slow drag before continuing again. 

“I missed everyone.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Laf.” 

“Yes it does. Listen to me. For once in your life, Alexander, listen before you speak, or you’ll lose me for good this time.” 

“Right, okay. Sorry.” 

“I missed everyone. Paris had comfort, it had familiarity. It had macaroons made right, and Stormae blasting through the speakers of stores. It had people who had been speaking French since the day they were born, and they got all of my jokes. Adrienne and I went on a road trip to St. Michael, and spent days at the Louvre and Versailles. Paris was home to a lot of people. But it wasn’t my home. Here, New York? This is where I belong.

“I belonged in Hercules’ arms, and I belonged with John in a taxi going down 84th street. I wasn’t better when I came back for Christmas, and the only thought at the forefront of my mind was If I go back, every pill I have swallowed and every hour I spent with the therapist will be a waste, but I wanted to come back home. I really did.”

Lafayette feels Alexander wrap arms around his waist, his forehead pressing into his shoulder. Alexander has always been short, he’s always been lean, and he’s always been intelligent. But there is a difference between intelligence and intuitiveness, and Lafayette knows that even if Alexander isn’t high, this conversation won’t stick. Nothing sticks with Alexander. He’s a rushing stream of water; everything whooshes past him.

“I hate to admit it, but I belong with you too.” The words leak out of Lafayette’s mouth before he can stop them. “But I can’t be with you if you’re going to continue to be what you were - what I still think you are.” 

“I’ve changed!” Alexander cries out, breaking his hold. His hands fly forward, and his brows crease together. “I haven’t shot up since I came back! I’ve been clean, and I’ve helped out around the house, I finally have a job-” 

“Those are all physical things, Alexander. True, it is hard to fight a drug addiction, and that plays a big part in our relationship, but you’ve always been abusive since the day I met you. I’m not going to stand for it anymore. I love you more than life itself, but maybe we weren’t meant to be together.”

“We are, Laf! I swear that we are! What can I do to prove to you that I’ve changed? I’ll do anything!” 

Lafayette swings one muscular arm around Alexander, and pulls him close. He looks into his eyes; warm, brown, and sees the salty tears forming on the brim. He kisses them away, locks eyes with him again, and frowns. “If I tell you it won’t come from the heart. Figure it out, Alexander.” 

With a final sigh, Lafayette breaks the hold he had on him, flicks his cigarette off the balcony, and walks back inside the house; blanket and all. He could go to Hercules, knows that even if he fell asleep in his studio that he’d wake up for him. But Lafayette really doesn’t want to delve into any deep relationship problems anymore, so he falls back into his bed, pulls the covers up past his nose, and drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> lololol not everything is gonna be a happy ending fam 
> 
> (also i'm working on a herc/alex piece rn and if you thought shit has hit the fan already then... idk what to tell you?? it hasn't.)


End file.
